TRANSITION POST*Denerim players have now been moved to Redcliffe. All players who are not in Redcliffe or Denerim now have the chance to move their characters anywhere else. REDCLIFFE CONDITIONS: The Castle will soon be under attack. Troop gathering and movement have been strategically placed here and directed personally by the Arl. There are a lot of Redcliffe troops, but also a lot of troops that are loyal to the Teryn.

It's also slightly cloudy.

***

DENERIM - Good Luck.

The Teryn smiled as he looked up into the sky. Today was going to be a good day, a great day as a matter of fact. He looked down to the courtyard below from the second story balcony. The mages had just finished laying the runes and were preparing to cast their spells. A small unit of heavily armored knights stood a small distance from the conjuring mages, lead by the Knight-Captain Gregor. His unit was there to specifically deal with two threats. The first was any of the mages that would be present there. The second threat came from the Silver Order unit. He was confident that his band of enhanced Templars could handle the threats.

His eyes wandered over to the small group of heroes that had so "willingly volunteered" for this mission. He couldn't believe that this was the group of people that Fate had identified. He hoped that such a ragtag group is just a joke. They were so self centered, so... unhero like that he found them perfect for the job. The best case scenario involved all of these idiots killing themselves. The worst case? Well, it would by him time for his other plans to work as well.

"My Lord?" called up one of the mages. "We're ready to begin." Teryn Cousland simply waved his hand to continue and addressed the people gathered below. Six mages gathered around the complex rune and began motioning their own hands in complex geometric symbols while quietly chanting. The runes pulsed a deep violet and slowly rose into the sky. the outlines of it appeared as it rotated to a horizontal position.

"Gentlemen. Friends, allies, and paid individuals. Let no individual deny the perils of our time. While we battle one another, divided be the petty strife of our common history, the tide of greater conflict is turning against us, threatening to destroy all that we have accomplished. It is time for us as nations and as individuals to set aside our long-standing feuds and unite. The tides of an unwinnable war are upon us and we must seek refuge on higher ground lest we be swept away by the flood. This day is the day of our action. The day we choose now to act for the greater good. Only together shall we succeed. Only together shall we triumph. Only together shall we overcome. That is why we fight."

By the time the Teryn finished, the portal was in place. The gathered forces stepped forward into the portal. Some with hesitation of trust a magic device such as this, others with the zeal to do what is right. But soon enough, all of them had disappeared through the portal to find themselves in Redcliffe. Once through, the portal closed down.

Of course, not everyone got to the same place....

Valmyria Windstridder - Redcliffe Castle.

The Warden Commander stood looking through the window. Before her was a magnificent display of the lake and the "village" that was near it. It was a peaceful, calm, and relaxing view. But she didn't feel any of those emotions. Instead she felt the calm before the storm. Something was happening that was outside of her range. Something big. Zha's warning to her had been evidence enough that something was up. So she had taken the precautions to make sure that she was always in her ranger armor and fully armed when she was outside of her quarters.

She raised the sweet tea to her lips and sipped a little bit of the drink. She didn't care too much for it. It was a luxury the Rangers just didn't have, but it helped her relax when she was a little girl. She was hoping she would get the same result here. She noticed movement out of the corner of her eye, it was her leader of the Silver Order, the dwarf Captain Moria.

"My lady," she said with a small bow. "Did you summon me?"

"Yes, mobilize your unit," replied Val, never taking her eyes off of the view before her. "I want your troops rea-" She felt it. An accumulation of power, a release and then nothing. Then came the cries of alarm.

REDCLIFFE:

The portal opened in the courtyard. The Knight-Captain Gregor was one of the first out, his heavy Templar armor gleamed in the rising sunlight. The heroes themselves, well some where here and others where in different places of the castle. "Citizens of Redcliffe!" he cried out, his booming voice carrying over the shrieks of the servants. "In the name of his Lordship, Teryn Cousland, we command that you surrender your forces peacefully and submit to arrest. You have been found with aiding and embedding a fugitive from the law, and one that seeks to overthrow the Kingdom of Fereldin. those that coroperate will be shown mercy, those that don't will face death."

The gates opened and the troops of Redcliffe surged forward and surrounded the tiny group. Spears were issued forth, swords were drawn and shields raised. One man marched forth, a Redcliffe commander, and looked at the Knight-Captain in the eye. "Your authority isn't recognized here, Knight-Captain. This is the domain of Arl Hailstrom. Under his command and authority, I order you and your troops to stand down or be cut down."

Gregor looked into the sea of troops around him and say that there was a good number that had a purple band tied around their arm, the mark of loyalty to the Teryn. "Death it is then," he said pulling out his sword and charging forth...

It had taken him a fortnight, but Deacon had reached Redcliffe. He felt exhausted, and was looking forward to a rest. But then, something caught his attention. The general feeling of the area had shifted, from peaceful... to a warzone. He decided not to waste any more time, and sprinted for the castle. "This should get interesting... ", he said with a grin. "If I hurry, I may just make it in time to join the party."

Out of the gardens and into the surrounding area went the disguised hunter. Given leave by the in-command, it wasn't hard for him to limp his way around the castle and the areas he hadn't had the time to visit before warning Val about that instinct he had of something terribly wrong. Musings brought the Darkspawn out into the wide courtyard, bustling as always with citizens and the like with nothing seemingly out of the ordinary. Zha knew better. He wasn't sure how though.

There were faded scribblings on the stone that couldn't be ignored, though well spaced out and all but hidden to the many walking around. Soldiers gave a wide berth to the scout and curious looks when he bent over to rub the ground with his gloves. Again that nagging feeling something was out of place. Why would there be runes in the courtyard so.. hidden? How new were they... how old. Forgotten perhaps? Even the guards stationed didn't seem to notice that every so often a cut in the ground looked familiar to a mage rune. So faded...

Zha had been walking about the castle for just over an hour, still limping, as he made progress up the nearby soldier passes. Around a corner the scout disappeared altogether, slipping into a room to remove the unfamiliar clothing and return his regular gear hidden away in a forgotten room near the front gates. Now it was his turn to sleuth. The guards never noticed the shadow of death lurking around every corner.None of them really said anything of value or a warning about events to come but one in a dozen seemed a bit off. Tense. Unusually tense, considering the peace. One person tense was usually paranoia. Over two dozen soldiers throughout the castle being a little twitchy at this exact moment? Fishy. A look out the window showed the same peace that echoed everywhere else... So then what was there about! The shocked screams broke his concentration as his musings turned to reality.

Soldiers. Dozens upon dozens of soldiers! strange arm bands marked them as foreign, the blood on their blades and the corpses at their feet just another reason for something to happen. To many for one hunter. Alarms went up quickly and so did Zha. At the time of the attack Zha had already placed himself rather well. Soldiers outside the gate coming in would meet resistance, already a detachment had been sent to close the gate. A sudden thrust of the deadly scimitar took a betrayer at the chains to a blackness he'd never escape. The appearance of the Darkspawn amidst three armed and alert betrayers was absolute, their defense to slow at the slash of his scimitar taking two unprotected throats. Down went the gate, unable to be raised by one man alone on the other chain crank. A good start. Zha'gren, the hunter of men, stayed to defend the room from more attackers before disappearing out a window at the sight of friendly guards rushing to take hold of the gates. They never knew who killed the men piling the doorway.

The battlefield was a strange place sometimes, a place that was full of possibilities. It had been a long time since Bill had taken part in such a large scale siege, not since his days with the old mercenary group that he was a part of. The stone knight stepped forward through the portal,’ bloody mages with their magic’… was the thought that crossed his head as he arrived in Redcliffe. But the thought didn’t last very long, the large knight now stood amongst the chaos and blood of the battlefield. It was the smell that stood out the most to the knight, the smell of blood and death. For the briefest of moments the stone knight took in a deep breath through his nose, it was intoxicating. He would have never admitted it to anyone but this was something that he missed dearly, the scent of the battlefield.

Bill surveyed the field for a moment and couldn’t help but notice the Teyrn’s men, but more specifically the knight commander himself. Soldiers who fought bravely often did so for a cause in which they truly believed in, whether it was money or an idea depended on the person, however the passion for battle was something that no one could ever fake. These men believed in the Teyrn, it was clear through the way they were fighting. Bill looked behind him to a group of soldiers who were just now passing through the portal then turned to face the chaos of the battle before them.

“Stay behind me, I’ll clear a path.” The man said as he raised his massive shield infront of his body, his dragon tooth weapon now at the ready. He charged forwards without another moment’s notice, heavy shield leading the way like some kind of plow. Any soldier that stepped in front of the charging knight was met with an incredible force the likes of which they have never seen. Bill’s movement was deceptive, his motion was just as fast as the other knights around him however the weight was not even close. A Redcliffe guard stepped into the path of the stone knight, his own shield raised and ready to intercept the charging warrior. The weight was just too much for the guard to handle, the moment the two shields collided it was already over for the other man. His footing instantly buckled and the momentum carried him to fall several feet backwards.

The guard was on his back before he even realized what had happened, the wind escaped his lungs and before he could even try to defend himself one of the soldiers behind Bill finished the job. This pattern continued for a while, Bill charging forward and knocking people around as if they were stepping into the path of a boulder. It was now apparent where the man got his nickname. During this time Bill did not swing his weapon, simply kept it at his side while he paved the ground with Redcliffe guards. Bill had been fighting alone for so long he had nearly forgotten what it was like to fight in a battle such as this, he was not about to let it go to waste.

As Zasalim was putting the finishing touches on a note for the current head of the Fereldan Grey Wardens, he felt an amassing of magical energy. It felt like his entire being was on edge then it suddenly dissipated. His gut feeling was one of dread as he looked in the direction the energy had emanated from. He quickly folded his farewell letter to Valmyria and grabbed his gear, satchel, and provisions. He left his payment for the room and food with the lady at the front desk and left the inn. Whatever was going down, it wasn't going to be pretty and he wanted no part in it. He had his own neck to look out for and a new objective as well.

-City Gate-

None the less, he wasn't one to leave too much unfinished business. As he approached the entrance to the village he noticed the guards gearing up for battle and some already heading toward the castle to assist the Arl of their domain. “Excuse me sir, could you pass this along to Valmyria Windstrider of the Grey Wardens? …. Good luck” he said as he attempted pass off the note and leave before the village was sealed off. He wasn't quite sure if he’d find opposition here or not so he maintained a firm grip on his bladed staff regardless.

Vovin did not sleep that night, far too much was on his mind. Marcus, his long time mentor and friend, actually his father...the thought whipped up a whirlwind of emotions within the young man. He had to have left that room, he did not know how he would react. Would he yell, cry, embrace the old man, scream hatred, grant the love that only a son could grant? Vovin's head ached as his thoughts swirled. He recalled moments in time when Marcus would visit; the liveliness of his mother, how she never failed to watch the man and her son clash swords. But he recalled different times, moments when the the three of them, mother, "father", and son would sit down to eat with the rest of the order. Vovin could clearly see the love that shone in his mother's eyes for the man Vovin had always thought of as his father. She loved them both, and that was why she could never reveal the truth. Vovin found himself unable to blame any of them. As much as his heart and soul raged against this betrayal, one image kept forcing his emotions down. That of the last time Vovin had seen Marcus before his own departure into the world. Vovin's father had his arm around Marcus' shoulder, a grin plastered across his face. Marcus smiled back sheepishly, but there was genuine joy in his heart, Vovin could see it at the time. A few feet behind them, Vovin's mother, a smile on her face so peaceful that it was as if she had never known pain of any kind. That was the image that quelled Vovin's rage. He could not hate Marcus, or his mother, never his mother. But it would take some time before he was ready to accept Marcus again. The thought of revealing the truth when he returned to the Order was shoved from his thoughts.

Time seemed to slip by the spirit warrior, and before he knew it he was walking towards a portal prepared by the Teryn's mages. He had not seen Marcus, and he was glad of this fact. He could not face his "new" father at this time. Vovin placed his black helmet upon his head as he advanced through the portal. There was a wave of sickness as his sight bent out of shape. Suddenly he was...on a balcony? Vovin discovered that he was kneeling, and he rose to his feet. There was a beautiful lake out before him, but he did not have time to admire the view. He heard the sounds of battle, and turned to face the entrance to the castle. He strode across the rather large balcony, muttering "Lets get this over with." to himself.

Deacon made it to the front gate to find several bodies on the ground, belonging to more than one group. Deciding to ignore it for now. He moved into the courtyard to find more combatants in a single battle than he had ever seen in every other clash in his life combined. He rushed in and to the right behind a bush, just as more men moved to secure the gate.

Looking around, he couldn't tell friend from foe. All the more reason to avoid all of them. Instead, he continued along the wall, moving inside the castle from a door on the side. As he made his way in, he found a body who's throat had been slit. Whoever did this, killed this man before he even knew anything was wrong. Still, better to deal with one man than one hundred, so he continued on.

The soldier ran through the hallways sweating, not from battle, though he had seen some already, no. What he ran from was far darker, evil and perverted but deadlier than anything he'd come across in the years he had been a freelance mercenary before tagging along with the Teryn. Nothing had ever frightened him half as bad, or killed his men with half so much ferocity. The thing had seen him and the men under him come in through a sidedoor and quickly realized he'd been high up on the ladder of soldiers invading through the portals, that was why he was still alive he'd mused during the frantic running. Any soldiers of his he'd come across were cut down my thrown knives, or killed by it's blade. How it moved so fast and so quietly he did not know. The frantic run ended when he ran into a dead-end.

Zha'gren was waiting for him to enter.

The darkspawn had taken the outer route along the castle walls from window to window frantically leaping to get ahead, his years as a hunter keeping him far ahead. When the frightened commander entered the final room he struck. A quick backhand blow of the scimitars flat blade snapped his head around painfully before slamming into the farside wall, how he screamed when the dagger crushed his hand and stuck fast to the wall. Zha'grens second, and last, dagger slammed into the mans shoulder the same way to numb the other arm. How he screamed.

Zha slipped in closer to his ear, his tongues escaping below the mask in the mans peripheral vision. His voice was like cruelty itself. "Who do you serve, human." It whispered. Defiance was all he had left now. "N-never te-" His words chocked off as Zha'grens heavy fist crushed his ribs to dust. The cruel voice still a whisper as the soldier slid down in blinding pain. "Who do you serve, human." It teased."T... Teryn C-Cousland," He stammered helplessly, "Please, Don-" Blackness took him when the scimitar found his brain, ending his pain forever. Zha'Gren knew the enemy, now he had a name to the faceless army.

More guards came into the room, following the sound of screaming. The sight made the soldiers nearly wretch, blood flowing freely from the corpse and a Darkspawn freak hovering over it.They had purple arm bands. Zha'Gren showed them just how deadly their loyalty could be.

Deacon went from room to room, finding several corpses whose throats had been slit. Entering the dining area, he saw a hooded figure over yet another corpse. His blade was drenched in blood, and his clothes reeked of death. The assailant turned to face him, clenching the scimitar in his hand. "So you are the one responsible for these bodies... Who are you?" The assailant remained silent, so Deacon took care not to get close. The fighter then took an aggressive stance. "So you wish to fight me next, eh? Very well, but I won't hold back." Unsheathing his sword, he steeled himself for the dual. "Maker, give me strength."

"No armband.." The figure whispered, though it carried in the quiet room decently well. Still, Zha readied his blade further before taking off the cloak that obscured him to let the new foe view the darkspawn in all his glory. Blood splattered his armor and skin to add a sinister glow to both the hunter and his scimitar. This new soldier didn't have the arm band. The others he'd killed had the arm band! This was to be expected, but it was irregular for someone to come in unawares to Zha'Gren. Still..

"Those who serve the Teryn will die, Templar." In charged the darkspawn, twisting on the balls of his feet to sweep his scimitar in a fast and deadly slash, a dagger in his left hand came in for a forward lunge as the scimitar swept across.

Deacon watched as the assailant revealed its identity and charged in. He found nearly impossible to believe that a Darkspawn was capable of such speech. The attack came in, a clever maneuver as well as a swift one. Rather than block or parry, he chose to run forward, before dropping down and sliding underneath the entire attack. At that point he could have counterattacked... but he never did like misunderstandings. "Teryn?", he said. He then looked at the corpse on the ground and saw his armband. "Cousland?! Is he the one attacking Redcliffe? I couldn't care less for the bastard!"

Attempting to make his intentions as clear as possible, he lowered his blade. "I am no threat to Redcliffe, but if Cousland is behind this, then his lapdog 'Knight-Captain' Gregor must be here." He couldn't believe he was having such a conversation with a being he had been willing to kill since he became a Templar. He turned around to make his way back to the courtyard. "I'm going to find Gregor; you may do as you please. If I am right, and you are indeed helping to defend the castle, then you are no enemy to me." As he began to walk, he looked back to face the Darkspawn. "As of this moment, you may consider me a defender of this castle." He was wary of the idea of showing his back to the creature, but he had other priorities, and kept moving.

The battle was intense, but for the moment it seemed as if the Teyrn’s forces were pulling ahead. He did not trust the man, he was more of a politician than a warrior and that was just something that never sat well with Bill. His men however fought bravely for the man and that was enough for Bill to go along with things for the time being. The tactics of using traitors amongst the guards was a brilliant one, a bit underhanded but he wasn’t surprised to see something like that come from a politician. This was a battle, the winner lives and the loser dies, you do anything you can to survive no matter how underhanded it may be.

Bill had already cleared a path for several soldiers to push forward, he allowed the ones that had been following him to go ahead while he defended the rear. He watched as the path he had cleared began to fill with Redcliffe soldiers, all of them moving to attack him and the soldiers he had just cleared the way for. A smile formed onto Bill’s face beneath his helm, these people had no idea who they were dealing with. The Redcliffe guards seemed able enough, they were brave and defended their city with honor, even if they did know that it was ‘Boulder Bill’ that they were charging they probably still would not have hesitated. The fools.

They closed in upon Bill like a wave filling a hole, pouring in behind the path that he had cleared. A guard with a longsword came at him first, swinging the blade downwards with a decent force. It was clearly a feint for the next attack, however Bill stepped forward and forced his shield into the blade. Concrete dust was chipped into the air as the attack rebounded off of his massive defense, knocking the soldier off balance. The bottom edge of Bill’s shield drove itself downwards onto the top of the man’s foot, smashing it into oblivion and forcing the man down to one knee. Before the guard could recover from the shock Bill had already reared his club backwards for his next attack, swinging the massive weapon horizontally into the guard’s head. It was as if Bill had just fired a cannonball towards the rest of the oncoming troops, the guard’s armored head crumpled up and launched its way into the crowd. The path behind Bill was once again cleared, with nothing but a mess of mangled corpses lining the ground.

Despite the beliefs of either side, the battle was pretty much a stand still. All over the castle, warriors loyal to the Teryn fought, and those brave men and women of Redcliffe watched in horror as their own friends and comrades turned against them. the courtyard was a mess as warriors were in an full out melee with no distinct lines between the two opposing forces. A horn from the top of the castle sounded deeply, echoing across the land, signalling to all that could hear it that the castle was under attack. Horns sounded in the distance as a response of coming aid. But this is just the start. In the valley below, within the village itself, the battle also began. This time though, Raiders from the south joined in as well under the command of the Teryn, and began to slaughter all of those within their reach. the Redcliffe militia and army garrison there fought the invading horde to a stand still.

The Knight-Captain stood back from the carnage and observed what was happening. His forces were doing well, Bill was a bloody wrecking ball when it came to this. Could have just sent the Stone Knight in by himself and still get the job done. Archers and mages soon began to spring up and he had to watch foir spells and arrows flying his way. Yes, cards were being shown, but his ultimate card had to remain for the last once the Wardens were out in the open. "Lieutenant!" he called out. Soon enough a bloodied Templar, standing just a bit taller than him appeared at his side. "Lieutenant, give the word for phase one and two to commence." The message was sent though hand signals to a servant that was on the walls looking down into the courtyard. He himself left to tell the others what to do... The Templar Captain turned around and pulled his own sword out, a massive great sword, and shouted "FOR FERELDIN!", before leaping into the fray. He curved his sword around expertly and sliced the nearest Redcliffe solider in half. One man tried to foolishly grab a hold of the weapon, but instead receive a bone shattering punch from the Templar's heavy plate fist.

Then the signal came. At first it was just a single, dull thump, but grew louder as the explosions neared. The wall on the other side of the courtyard exploded and threw any fighters over there to the ground. The tower near it groaned as its support was destroyed. Fires no raged and smoked issued up into the morning sky. Gregor couldn't see it, but he knew that there were several canisters of burning oil spread out as well that were being dumped along the wall and into other sections to inflict as much damage as possible...

He smile vanished from his face as he saw the silver armor cut through the ranks of his men. The Silver Order. He called what Templar forces he had and charged at the Warden's troops...

Valmyria Windstridder - What a FUBAR of a day. Redcliffe Castle.

The Warden braced herself as room began to shake. She could hear screams, those that belonged to the dying, the hurt, the vengeful. She reached out and grabbed the dwarf woman next to her. "Captain!" she yelled "Mobilize the Order, defend the Arl and repeal the attackers!"

"But what about you-"

Before Val could reply, the doors into the room burst open as a bloodied man fell in with several arrows in his back. Acting solely on reflex, the Ranger had her bow out and launched several arrows through the door, killing a couple of men with purple arm bands. "Now!" she commanded and watched as the dwarf charged into the hallway with her axe in the air.

Another door behind her opened and more troops with mae flooded into the room. The elf took out as many of the soliders as she could with the bow, but was soon overwhelm and had to pull out her swords. With skill and grace, she danced between her enemies, their blades missing, hers always connecting. The mage had a clear line of fire and cast a fireball at her. Time slowed as the flaming projectile came flying towards the Warden. But she smiled. She was a Ranger. She reached out and "cupped" the fireball with one hand with her own magical skills. Val spun around and shoved the fireball back at the mage. This move caught the mage by surprise and hit the poor woman in face. The force of the blow propelled the magic user through the window, and down into the courtyard below. She sheathed her blades and turned to walk out but quickly ducked as the sword of a heavily armored knight passed right where her head was suppose to be. In a flash, the Warden Commander had her knife out and shoved it angrily into the knight, between the weak points of his armor. She slammed an armored fist into the helmet, causing the man to stumble backwards.

"You know, I needed this today. Way. Too. Much." she raised her legged and slammed her foot into the knight's chest. The force of the impacted picked the man off the ground, and crashed through the double doors that lead out onto a balcony. Casually, she slipped the knife back into its scabbard, and pulled out a sword as she waled to where the man struggled. The knight was breathing hard and tried to get up. But single, quick thrust of her sword pierced the helmet and the body slummed back to the ground.

She looked up at a individual wearing a set of black armor that had been skillfully detailed to resemble a mighty black dragon. "This man wasn't with you, was he?" she asked, indicated to the dead knight.

It seemed he was a bit too late to flee the chaos and the mage could hear it all too well. The sounds of war erupting from the castle soon became cries from the citizens of Redcliffe that permeated through the city streets. Soon the Horn sounded over the chaos alerting all to the state of emergency that encompassed them. Raiders came charging toward the city. He truly didn't want to participate but his journey would have to wait. Survival took over and had he any chance of embarking on any thing ever again he'd have to carve a path out of this mess first.

He cast an earthquake at the entrance he was to leave from before rushing back toward the people helpless amidst the slaughter. His hopes were to slow the raider's advance and give the guards a fighting chance, but a few turned on their fellow knights and cut them down to leave the gates uncontested. They had but one distinguishing artifact and that was a purple arm band that allied them to the enemy. Most of the others had already left running to help defend the castle, the knight carrying his note included. Had the city any chance someone had to stem the tide. He chose to dispatch the treacherous guards with a couple of bone shattering stone fists to the face and the others felt the explosive rage of a great fireball at their feet knocking them clean off and broiling their bodies in mid flight as it burst into flames. His staff's blade was soon engulfed in fire as he took an offensive stance and stared down the warriors coming to lay siege on the village. All the while he was preparing an inferno to cripple their advance.

Isador looked toward the portal with a slight feeling of uneasiness for this strange magic. He may no longer be a Templar but over a decade of catching mages gave him that feeling whenever magic was used no matter the circumstances. He had slept well that night; he always did before an assignment. It wasn’t until after that the nightmares came, however they were never about what he had done…..it was always that girl and the other mages he had dragged kicking and screaming back to the tower. Their faces haunted him, watched him in the night as he thrashed about in his sleep. As the host advanced towards the portal Isador pushed all outside thought out of his mind and marched towards the portal.

As his senses returned to him after a moment Isador now found himself in the main hall of the castle, looking dead at the Arl himself. There was a palpable sense of shock in the room, for a split second no one moved due to the Black Axe suddenly appearing. However as he drew his weapon the room came alive again. A few soldiers whisked the Arl away down a corridor as half a dozen men stayed to take down the intruder. Despite the size of the weapon Isador had a strange grace to the way he wielded his Axe. Before the first one hit the ground he had already taken off another man’s leg and split open a thirds skull. He did so all the while laughing hysterically, his eyes wild with bloodlust as he parried a thrust from another soldier’s sword and took his arm off at the elbow. The rest of the men fled for their lives, leaving Isador with his first victory of the day. As the men ran he shouted at them. “The Black Axe has come and I shall paint these walls with your blood!” His wicked grin wide across his face as he looked down at the dead guards then looked to which door to take.

-Redcliffe-

Despite the loud noises and the scent of blood in the air, Teelo had decided to stay with the meat holding Two-leg since he seemed to be fleeing as well. However once they reached the edge of the town the meat holder stopped and his scent filled with one of worry and tension. Teelo could tell more predators were coming. He saw the large group of Two-legs approaching the town and began to think about turning in to a bird and flying away. Just as he was about to flee Teelo heard a faint yet familiar sound coming from the forests. The sounds of his guardian’s howl, a howl of the hunt, a howl of death to come. Teelo shifted to his true form, took a deep breath and howled in response to his old teacher. With that he walked towards the coming pack of Two-legs and bared his teeth, growling like the feral boy he was. His growl turned to a loud roar as he transformed in to a hulking bereskarn, his hide covered in spikes. The mighty creature then stood on its hind legs and gave another defiant roar as the first of the raiders approached the gate, hesitant at first as they first gazed at Teelo but continued their charge. The earth trembled beneath Teelo’s thick bear legs but he remained standing, waiting to fight to the death as he had done every day of his life. Teelo shrugged off an attack from a longsword, mauling its wielder and leaving in agony in the dirt. Teelo could taste the blood in his mouth, smell the scent of death in the air mingled with smoke and fear. On the raiders charged the gate and the Forest Child brought them down with tooth and claw.

"Go then. Friends, we are not. Allies... for now." The Darkspawn nodded solemnly, though still not putting away his strong Scimitar. Off went the Templar, and no sooner did he leave the area than the rocking started. Huge explosions ripping a tower down somewhere amidst the castle had the surprise fight suddenly turn to chaos. Though defenders still fought honorably, fire and explosions rattled the area. The battle in the courtyard was lessening now, with rubble from the walls falling off.

That gave Zha'Gren an idea for how he would fight the monster of stone and metal.

Back through the rooms ran the hunter, retrieving a long cloak from the fallen. It was a dark black with a deep hood covering the bone mask. Amidst the fire and chaos it was unlikely that anyone would see him for what he was very quickly. That was all the cover he needed. out the window and up the wall went the deft killer with practiced ease, coming to the battlements of the courtyard beside two wizards and a row of archers. All of them not facing him. The wizards were shouting out something to the archers, but their screams turned heads quickly enough. One was impaled through the front with a long scimitar in his chest, the other had a dagger stabbing wildly into his back as they both fell to the floor gurgling.

Up and out went the blooded Scimitar, taking a crossbow off to the side and misfiring into a friendly, the blades wide sweep killed the third man as the dagger finished the first.

THUMPTHUMPTHUMP went the last three crossbows, aimed at the deft attacker hiding behind the armored corpse of their fallen friend. No quarrel hit. The scimitar was already in a deadly spin as the last three crossbowman struggled to get the swords at their hips only to find the Scimitar flung through the chest of the furthest soldier, the other two falling to the dagger in the eye as the middle one was met with a flying punch that sent the now extended wristblade though the chest to pierce the heart. No time was wasted reloading the crossbows. All 6 were loaded as the hunter hastily checked each mage for something useful, anything at this point. Zha almost laughed.Each mage was carrying one vial of a very explosive concoction, likely to be used in burning the stones around them on a retreat. Two quick loops of torn cloth had them on a crossbow quarrel. All that was left was to fire.

Two well placed strikes exploded in the middle of the force following the iron giant, blasting away the formation behind him and scattering loose stone from the pathways to ruin the even footing. Four more quarrels were fired off in rapid succession as the darkspawn took up a new crossbow and aimed at the behemoth of a man, hoping to get it in the eye amidst the confusion or atleast hit a soft spot and wound the damned thing.

Down the side path it went as the last shot was fired, hoping to get a good ambush in as the armored boulder dealt with the chaos.

Deacon had maybe stepped fifty paces when the ground began to shake. He saw the ceiling above him begin to crumble, and made a break for the door in front of him. Diving through at the last moment, he saw the rubble blocked the doorway. "No turning back... Oh well." He then realized he wasn't alone, counting five of the Teryn's men in front of him. "Finally... I was wondering when I'd start having fun."

The first man charged foolishly, an easy kill. Deacon ducked, performing a sweep kick that left his opponent hanging horizontally, before pulling out his blade and splitting him at the waist with an upward strike. Blood covered his entire body, as he motioned for the other men to try their hand. Three of them came at once this time, the first attempting a downward swing, which Deacon blocked and redirected into his ally's shoulder, before driving his dagger into the second's neck. He then decapitated the first with a swift strike, using a kick to launch the head into the third, stumbling him and allowing Deacon the time to make contact with a full-forced swing that cut through him as if he were butter.

With four men dead, the fifth attempted to run, but Deacon caught him by the throat and brought him to his face. "You are still alive for one reason: you are to deliver a message..." Deacon's eyes narrowed as he spoke. "Tell Knight-Captain Gregor that his life is at an end, and that Deacon Reinhardt will have his head." He released the soldier, who immediately began running through the halls, screaming as if he had come face-to-face with Death itself. He was rather flattered, letting out a small chuckle as he resumed his march to the courtyard.

Zasalim wasn't oblivious to the spectacle that happened before his very eyes, and he didn't care where help came from. He was just grateful the little shape-shifter was there at all. It did mean he'd have to adjust his strategy a bit to avoid any friendly fire, but it was in deed doable. He shifted his amassing energy from the inferno he'd envisioned into rock armor instead and channeled the rest into his body using combat magic to manifest the Arcane Warrior. With the Fade shroud in full effect he became a ghostly, off white version of himself as he now walked the line between the fade and the physical plane.

As he charged into the fray, the violent tremors ceased allotting Teelo and their attackers better footing. He fought by the bereskarn's side, as his searing blade cut through the invader's ranks like a hot knife through butter. He wielded the staff in a dance of death parrying one to simultaneously cleave another in half, only to impale the first a moment later. Those who took the blunt end of the staff felt it's crushing power liken to that of a mace most often to the skull or chest and were sent flying back. As they fought, Zasalim cast a heal upon Teelo after dispatching yet another Raider. Though it was quick, it left him vulnerable for a moment. However, his ghostly countenance was not for show as a would be death blow passed right through him leaving not even a scratch on his armor.

The sight of the hulking Bereskarn and the ghastly Arcane Warrior working in unison cast fear into the hearts of their aggressors, some even calling them demons. Zasalim couldn't blame them for such a conclusion for they were far from the expectation one may have of a warrior, rouge, or mage. For their talents were unique and long forgotten magicks.

Valas looked on the scene before him with, somewhere between disgust and envy, at the effortlessness of the killing done by the twisted man who had called himself the black axe. Such a waste of good talent from someone who used to be a shining example of what a proud and loyal Templar should be.

If only pride was something that didn't blind the young.Shadows darkened in the main hall as door after door slammed shut and all but froze, seeming to resist anything that got close. Be it magic, keys.. or an axe. By rights a blade should turn the doors to kindling quickly but a stroke from a giant would not even budge them now. The torches blew out one by one to bring the darkness in deathly close to Isador, the chill of the grave permeated the room like a blanket. Quick as it came it receded back to the bright glare of the torches. Purple torches. One by one then reignited in the same fashion but tinted a dark purple, casting the room in its ominous glow. Valas was barely 5 feet away from the berserk reaver. Valas Delrune feared nothing.

"Tsk tsk, Isador. Such sloppy work from a man who brought fear into the hearts of mages. A shining example of what blind loyalty and obediance could achieve for personal gain and recognition..." Screams echoed off the walls to drown out the last few words this shadowed figure spoke, the screams pleading for Isador not to take them back. To let them run. To not bring them to torturous death.Valas' body was cloaked in shadows, almost like it was drawn to him.. or maybe he was letting them out. The skulled metal mask on his face hid any expression beyond his eyes. Those dark pools of suffering to come. He held out his hand, the skull staff flaring to brilliant purple and blue flames, twisting violently against one another for the upper hand. The darkness of his voice was colder than the room. "You are less than you ever were. Your only achievement now is for spilling the most blood with the most glee. Do not hide from your broken past with blood and skulls, Reaver," A flourish of the staff in a wide sweep revealed ghastly shambling corpses standing where shadows had been. "Embrace the ones you have condemned. Embrace them as they embrace you now.."

The corpses shuffled in. Each baring a face twisted by tears of anger and fear. The faces of those he brought back.

"Hold on-" commanded the Knight-Captain as he pushed the messenger out of the way of a charging footman. Gregor shoved his sword into the ground and reached out to grab the charging man's shield. He twisted against the shield and lifted upwards, causing the fool to be thrown high into the air over the Templar and crashing into the dirt behind him.

"As you were saying?" asked Gregor as he tossed the shield aside and retrieved his blade.

"Captain. His name is Deacon Reinhardt. A former Templar I believe. He's coming for you," replied the pale solider.

"Hmm," replied Gregor as he thought back. It's been... at least five years since he had seen the man face to face. They had been friends once, but ultimately the loyalty to the Order drove the two men to different sides. Deacon had quit the Order, Gregor couldn't remember if any drama had happened, but he was assigned once to go and "retrieve" the ex-Templar. He had found the man in a village, but despite the feelings of betrayal and anger in his heart, Gregor just couldn't kill the man or bring him back in. He was still a force of good in this twisted world. He filed a report saying he couldn't find the man, and suggested the matter be turned over to the Seekers. But now, he wondered if he had made some sort of mistake.

"Tell him," he said approaching the fallen footman, who was still in a daze, and trying to get back up. The Captain though pushed the man back down to the ground with his armored boot, and shoved the blade through the man's neck.

Yet another combatant rushed him, and Deacon was eager to grant him a quick death. He was halfway back to the courtyard, and had yet to break a sweat. Maneuvering behind the rushing soldier, he slashed the backs of his knees. Bleeding out on the ground, the soldier attempted a final swing of his sword, only for the attack to be caught as Deacon crushed his throat with his boot.

Deacon kept moving forward, yet his mind began to delve into the past. "Gregor...", he said to himself. The two of them had joined the Order within a month of each other, and quickly became friends. They both served the Order loyally until the day Deacon received his last assignment. On that day, he watched as four apostates resorted to blood magic to protect themselves, as those who were to supposed to protect them attacked without mercy. Not even one of them were of age yet, one only being fourteen.

He has lived with regret since that day, wishing that he could have had a chance to bring them in peacefully, yet feels as though those events opened his eyes. To the Order, mages weren't people, but rather a dangerous threat that was to be either contained, or killed. Sick of those thoughts, he left the Order, greatly angering his superiors. They sent Gregor, his friend, to bring him back, or kill him. They encountered each other in a small village, yet Gregor let him go. But three days later, as Deacon rested in a cot on the far end of the village, the entire area was burned to the ground, killing everyone there, he himself barely escaping. He knew, it was not mages they were after... it was him.

Returning to reality from his flashback, he walked and wondered if his little performance was enough to prioritize his message to the Knight-Captain. "We may have been comrades, Gregor...", he said as he grasped the blade in his sheath. "But if you insist on being the right hand of the Devil, then you leave me no choice..." The courtyard grew ever closer, as more soldiers blocked his path. He may not kill Gregor, but he will slay every last one of the Teryn's men that would dare to cross his path.

The sounds of a chaotic battle reached Vovin's ears. He had to hurry! Suddenly, as he was in the middle of crossing the Balcony, the doors he was approaching burst open, revealing the collapsed form of a knight. Vovin quickly identified the fallen knight as one of the Teryn's. From under visor of his helm, Vovin's eyes met those of the knight's slayer, a woman who seemed to radiate both strength and confidence. Vovin paused in his advance as the woman pulled her sword from the knight's skull. Vovin's eyes snapped from his casual look, to a sharp, hard gaze that penetrated even the sturdiest of nerves. Reaching back, the spirit warrior drew his longsword from its scabbard on his back.

"He was, actually. I don't suppose you are going to surrender, are you?" He asked his rhetorical question. Vovin was not going to underestimate this one, but he didn't want to show all his cards at once. He felt the dragon's spirit rearing to let loose, and he was not going to deny it any more. With a surge, Vovin went Beyond the Veil, but he did not go all out. An orange aura seemed to burst into existence around him and flowing along his sword. Without further ado, Vovin swung his sword through the air, unleashing a horizontal "slash" of spiritual energy in the direction of the woman. Vovin followed his own projectile, continuing his attack with a flurry of swings of his sword, which seemed to be improbably fast for a sword of its size.

The Warden dived underneath some sort of orange aura slash. She wasn't exactly sure what it was, and assumed that it would be in her best interest not to touch it. Upon rising from her maneuver, Val found herself quickly under a barrage of attacks from the black knight. He was using a long sword with surprising speed, but personally found his form and style of attack a little sloppy. Those blades, while could be used in a manner, were meant to focus the power and strength behind a swing. She had seen other Wardens cleave multiple darkspawn in half with a single swing. Still, she had no doubt of the damage that could be caused if that sword hit anywhere else other than her armor. How rude, she thought to herself. To hit on a woman without even giving your name or why you are here. Chivalry was indeed dead in this smelly-dog country.

The key word was if. Valmyria was a Quel'Elhen Ranger. Speed and agility was her game. So, she dodged most of his attacks by simply stepping to the side or spinning to the other side of the warrior. Every time she did, she would playfully tap on his armor with her sword. She had to delay him long enough for the Arl to get out of the castle, or for Arvashok to arrive. Where the hell was he anyways?

Using the her sword, she smacked the top of the great sword in one of the attacks, forcing the tip into the ground. She placed a boot on the knights chest and pushed off, catapulting herself into the air in a skillful back-flip, and outside of the knight's range. Once on the ground, the Warden Commander pulled out her second sword and got into a defensive stance. "I'm not letting you harm the Arl," she said, guessing at the purpose of the attack on the Castle. That Bann must have had a larger issue with the Arl then she previously thought. "Surrender, and I'll make sure that you live." Now was the time to get a little bit more serious. With two blades, she would be able to defend herself with one and counter attack with the other or go into a lighting fast assault of attacks.

Knight-Captain Gregor - Castle Courtyard.

"Sir!" shouted another messenger to the Captain. He was getting tired of this, next castle assault, promised Gregor, he was going to be the messanger.

"By the Maker, what now?" he snapped as he cut the head off a elf-servant that ran past him.

"We found the Warden. She's on the upper balcony and Vovin Dranis is fighting her."

"Send a team to assist."

Redcliffe Village.

The descending horde showed no mercy. They were acting more like animals then people, something was off about them. Still the defenders held them back, barely.

Isador maintained a clear head as the lights dimmed and a mage began to speak of his past. Parlor tricks like different colored flames would not distract him. However with all his training barely kept him from visibly looking shocked as the faces of all those he had returned to the tower rose up and began to walk towards him. “You think these illusions will frighten me mage? The Black Axe does not fear death!” He shouted as he took his axe to the first corpse drew close, rending it in half. “Show yourself and I shall give you a quick end!” The corpses kept approaching Isador and every time he cut them down, but as each fell, Isador began to hear the last words each one screamed to him as he watched them hauled back inside the circle tower. With every swing the cries for help became louder and louder until their voices filled the hall, echoing their despair, their terror, all crying for help that Strauss did not give.

While his face was full of rage, inside a sinking feeling of guilt began to weigh down on Isador’s thoughts. So many…..so many innocents ripped away from freedom to be dragged back to those they ran from. Strauss closed his eyes and began to swing blindly at the corpses, trying to block out the screams. “FIGHT ME MAGE!” He roared as he brought down his axe to split the skull of another corpse. However as lifted his weapon to swing again the screams all stopped and the sounds of shambling feet with them. Isador opened his eyes to see that the fallen corpses were nowhere to be seen…..all except for one little girl, standing a few feet from the Black Axe, her throat cut open while weeping tears of blood.

-Redcliffe Village-

The invading force at the gates were ferocious, wild even but Teelo and the meat-holder held their ground at the gate, bodies beginning to pile up to create even more of a defensible area. The ground was stained with blood and not all of it belonged to the dead. Teelo had several wounds on his massive hide but he fought on without mercy or fear. The spells of the meat-holder tore apart whole groups of the invaders but their charge never slowed. As Teelo brought down a spearmen the man made a final thrust as he fell dying, stabbing his spear in to Teelo’s shoulder. He roared at the pain and decided to get a little more creative. He transformed himself in to a large swarm of wasps and began to spread among the two-legs, causing many to become incapacitated from stings to the eyes and any other exposed flesh. Through the chaos one of the two-legs broke through the spell destruction and the swarm, running to the meat-holder. Before he came within range to attack the entire swarm surrounded the man and lifted him in to the air several feet before dropping him, impaling him on a spear then returned to debilitating the soldiers in the front to soften them up for the meat-holder.

Zasalim grinned in the midst of the chaos as the two mage army held their own against the pack of wild, possibly ravenous Raiders. He was enjoying the battle despite being grossly out numbered. While he was appreciating the adrenaline rush and the success they were experiencing at holding the choke point, it was not to last and he didn't want to be around when fatigue finally set in. He still had a journey to take after all and the village was in decent hands, good even with the Wardens and their Order, the militia, and the remaining soldiers still loyal to the people and their own bloody Arl.

Despite strategic advantages, they were still heavily outnumbered and while Zasalim had his armor and spells to aid in his defenses, most animals had only their hide or scales. No matter how thick the skin, one's body was being used to absorb and deal damage. He heard the shapeshifter roar in pain just before the rampaging bereskarn became a loud buzzing mass of angry wasps. The attention of the pack shifted to him in spite of the vast swarm of wasps that ferociously plagued them even claimed the lives of some in rather inventive ways. With no signs of the savage raiders letting up on their assault of the village, Zasalim tried to formulated a plan of escape without defeating the purpose of defending the gates to begin with.